Vanilla
by ProcurerFaith
Summary: Canada might be Mr Blandy-Bland, but that doesn't mean he isn't good at anything. In fact, there's something he's very good at. He just doesn't advertise it, because nobody would notice and even if they did they'd probably laugh. Cake, anybody?


_****__**Disclaimer:**_ 'Hetalia Axis Powers_' belongs to __Himaruya Hidekaz_ and all other associated copyright holders. I do not claim any ownership of 'Hetalia Axis Powers'. I am not making any money from this fic. This short story is for entertainment purposes only.

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_**Vanilla  
**_

Hm. Not quite right. The spoon clattered into a bowl, which had been made sticky with beaten egg. Canada added some vanilla essence to the butter cream, and beat it firmly with practiced hands. He scraped the crust of sugar back into the butter cream and continued to beat it until it peaked in soft, pale swells. Letting the bowl rest, he absently brushed his hands on his apron and picked up another teaspoon from the counter beside him.

Mm. Better.

It always felt…well…a little bit dirty, helping America celebrate his birthday. Canada was always caught between England's depression and America's mania. Still. It wasn't as though he could let his brother's birthday go unnoticed. After all, he knew what _that_ felt like.

He smoothed the butter cream over the top of the perfectly cut sponge, sweeping the metal palette knife over the last of it to ensure not a speck of the base was left uncovered. Then he followed up with the jam – strawberry – spread generously over the other sponge. Now for the tricky bit; getting them together without making too much of a-

There we go. Perfect.

There was something intensely comforting about the kitchen. Whenever his mood was left wanting, or his loneliness kicked up to full throttle, Canada found solace in the smell of burnt sugar and the heat of his oven. Practice might not have made perfect, but it had made pretty damned good. It wasn't something he advertised, and even if he had nobody would have paid it any mind; but of all the things Canada lacked confidence in, sugarcraft was not one of them.

Ehh. Royal icing. Not one of his favourite things to make, though somehow he'd managed to not only make it to the right consistency, but it hadn't set like a brick in the bowl, either.

This was the other tricky bit. He'd have to come back in a couple of hours to frost the sides anyway, but unless he made the plateau just so, the corners would be crooked, and then he'd have to cover up the crookedness with too much piping, and then he'd never be able to look at the cake again. He was vaguely aware of poking his tongue out between his teeth, and tried not to cringe at himself because of it. This was important. He really didn't want to make a mess of the cake now; the icing was going to take hours to set as it was.

There. Not quite perfect; there was a little bumpy bit on the left hand side where he hadn't used hot enough water to heat the palette knife, but it would do. Canada rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand, leaving a smudge of confectioner's sugar in its wake. He already looked pale, his face coated in a smattering of icing sugar.

Several hours later, and the cake had pristine white walls and was edged top and bottom with carefully piped stars which alternated between red, white and blue. Canada put down the piping bag and sucked the remnants of the icing off his fingers, even looking around to make sure nobody was looking. He caught himself and shrugged; who would be here? It was his kitchen, tough if there was anybody watching his poorer habits. Regardless, he quickly washed his hands and dried them on the bottom of his apron.

With a number 2 round Wilton decorating tip, he very carefully drew an outline of the United States of America on the plateau in black royal icing. It took some time to get it just right, and by the time he'd finished his whole arm was sore from the tension. He flexed his hand a few times, trying to get the blood flowing through it again. At least he'd thought to get those lovely little pots of paste food dye; it'd be so much easier to paint in the stars and stripes with those than it was with the standard dyes. Half the time he ended up with more dye on his hands than on the cake with those liquid things. That was okay when it was, say, yellow, but blue and green took days to wash off.

It was almost bedtime by the time he finished the fiftieth star. Twenty-five stars were edged with a thin red line, and a further twenty-five were edged with a thin blue line. Canada yawned into his shoulder as he washed the back of the forty-ninth star with a thin mix of royal icing and pressed it to the white walls of the cake. Dare he go on and paint the stars and stripes into the United States now? He was worried he'd spoil the cake at the very last; a flick of blue dye in the wrong place might well bring him to tears. Ah well. In for a penny, in for a pound.

Canada was flagging badly by the time he'd painted in the thirteenth stripe. He squinted at the lines; they weren't exactly equal, but he blamed his extreme tiredness and possibly his astigmatism. He figured afterwards that he could have saved himself some time and effort by painting on the Betsy-Ross flag, as that had been the first real flag after independence. It would have been a lot easier to arrange thirteen stars than fifty - but then, there was no need to worsen England-san's pain by dragging all that up as well.

Canada put the lid on the pot of red dye, rested the brush he'd been using against an empty plate and leaned on his elbows on the kitchen counter. Nobody was ever going to appreciate the effort that had gone into this cake – _especially_ not America. Despite this, Canada sighed fondly and felt a surge of pride. Much of the magic was in the making; it didn't matter if he was the only one who appreciated his work because he enjoyed doing it so much. He was dying to have a go at a gingerbread house this Christmas. Those things looked awesomely complicated, and it might take him a couple of days to get it just right. He looked forward to it; sugar baked with ginger was one of his favourite smells.

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_Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed my story :)_


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